


How Did We Get Here?

by amzmcd



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic - ish, First Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jim speaks Irish, M/M, MorMorTrashNet, Murder Husbands, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amzmcd/pseuds/amzmcd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How the fuck did we get here?” Sebastian wonders to himself, brushing his lips over the younger man’s forehead, an oddly fond gesture that he is intent on repeating if their … whatever this is, is to continue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Did We Get Here?

**Author's Note:**

> (flashbacks in italics, enjoy!)

It was a slow build. Numerous possibilities and opportunities over months. Some, or most, were tests on Jim’s part, pushing him, teasing him, all purely to glean more information about his Sniper and what was really happening between them, if anything. Results proved that yes, attraction and more had grown between boss and employee.  
It could’ve happened at any time, spontaneous and unexpected, much the boss himself. Ironically, the kiss – the one that changed everything, but at the same time, nothing – took Sebastian by surprise purely because of how it was so in contrast to the man himself.

***M&M***

Sebastian tore his gaze from the blank ceiling as the man next to him stirred, black hair messed by sleep. Morning light intruded from a gap in the curtains, casting an ethereal looking light over the Irishman’s features. In sleep, he frowned at the light trying to rouse him and proceeded to turn into Sebastian’s side, compacted against him as Jim fell deeper into slumber.  
“How the fuck did we get here?” Sebastian wonders to himself, brushing his lips over the younger man’s forehead, an oddly fond gesture that he is intent on repeating if their … whatever this is, is to continue.

 _Berlin. It’s November and incomparably cold. Both enter the building swathed in thick wool coats, leather gloves, and scarves. Jim looks immaculate as ever. Sebastian is all about adaptability and functionality. His clothing, by Jim’s insistence, is still more expensive than most normal people’s monthly salaries. But it comes as part and parcel of his life as Jim Moriarty’s right hand. He certainly doesn’t hate it._  
_Inside is warmer by a fraction. Their counterparts are more at ease with the cold temperatures, attempting to lure Moriarty from his comfort zone to get what they want. It doesn’t work. Once the papers are signed, the signal is given and Sebastian springs into action, bullets flying, bones cracking._  
_His cheek is grazed by cold steel, another scar for the collection, and he isn’t fazed. Instead he fires two bullets into the brute of a body-guard’s throat. Jim gives a slow clap as they survey the damage. Sebastian’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, but nonetheless he huffs out a laugh and smirks. “_ Amateurs, Jim.” He moves closer, adrenaline pumping through his veins.   
_Icy blues meets the darkest of browns and there’s a moment… Proximity is close, though not uncomfortably. A cold, ungloved hand cups his jaw roughly, dragging him down. Jim's thumb digs in. ‘That’ll bruise,’ he thinks, unflinching as he feels Jim’s misty breath on his face. Spearmint gum._  
_The digit presses harder, this time into the bleeding scrape on his cheek. Sebastian grits his teeth. Still close even after he’s been released, their eyes don’t break contact as Jim licks the blood from his thumb, wordless._  
_It’s suddenly a lot warmer and Jim laughs, “Come along, Tiger. We’ve got a flight to catch.” His legs feel heavy, reluctant to move as his boss steps toward the door, turning to give him one more look. Dark eyes drifting lower to the rather pressing problem his Sniper has. His expression lies somewhere between triumph and disgust, though Sebastian can’t tell. He just squares his jaw and supresses, he continues as normal. Well, as normal as his life with Jim can be._

“Mm. Time s’it?” A sleepy grumble from under the duvet. The trespassing sun had gotten brighter as the pair continued to doze, meaning Jim was now curled in a ball under the bedclothes, hiding from the morning light. Sebastian had shielded his own face by shoving it into a pillow.  
“After nine, I dunno,” came the muffled reply, reluctant to check.  
The lump next to him moved fractionally until a rumpled looking head peered up, scowling tiredly. Cracking his eyes open, Sebastian’s lips curved into a crooked half smile.  
“Piss off,” Jim grumped, flopping an arm over his side, tucking his head under his right hand man’s chin. That was promising to Seb, who lifted an arm to accommodate him.  
A heavy sigh is puffed against his neck, “You snore.”  
“Hm. You kick in your sleep, and steal the blankets.”

 _It’s a few weeks later when the next encounter happens. Jim has been holed up in his office for days, not sleeping, not eating. Little more than a few chocolate bars with the cups of tea Sebastian leaves him periodically. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner._  
_“I’m making some toast.”_  
_“Good for you. Now piss off, Moran,” comes the short reply._  
_Paper covers the desk, files stacked on the sides. Jim despises mess. He likes his environment ordered, like his mind. Disorganisation is a clear sign that he’s pushing himself too hard. Now and then, as he tips around the flat they share, Sebastian hears him shouting – usually down the phone, though sometimes it’s just at nothing._  
_“Moran, here now.” The order was crisp and clear, delivered just moments after a smash, a curse and more shouting. Sebastian is pinned to the wall by Jim’s surprisingly strong arms seconds after he appears at the door. There’s a mess of spilt tea, staining vital documents, and a broken cup._  
_“What have I fuckin’ told you about leavin’ tea when I’m workin’, huh? Answer me!” Jim’s accent is thicker, more visceral when he’s mad. He slaps Sebastian hard across the face._  
_“Answer me, moron.”_  
_“Should’ve drank it then rather than spilling it,” he grits out, earning another slap. He deserved that one. Probably._  
_Once again, their pressed close and he thinks ‘this is it’. It’s too easy. Jim can read him like an open book and delivers a swift punch to his jaw. Sebastian takes it. It’s not the worst punishment. It snaps him out of whatever fantasy he had been residing in since Berlin._  
_“You need to cop **the fuck** on, Moran. Clean it up.” Jim shoves him hard against the wall once more, before grabbing a packet of hidden cigarettes from the desk. His hands shake as he tries to light it, finally succeeding as he draws his knees up on the windowsill. He’s quiet, collecting himself as Sebastian wordlessly completes his assigned task. He doesn’t say sorry when he leaves, leaving Jim alone as he starts on his second cigarette. Then a third._  
_He’s wrapped up the case by eight that night, and collapses onto the sofa where Sebastian has taken up residence to watch the match._  
_“Turn it down,” he says tiredly, feet in the Sniper’s lap._  
_“Yes, boss,” comes the reply, though Jim’s already asleep._

They’re both awake and silent, still curled up.  
“So, what the fuck is this then?” Sebastian asks eventually, running his fingers over Jim’s back lazily.No answer comes for a few minutes.  
“Why should anything change?” Jim replies as their eyes meet.  
He turns, leaning on his arms, half on top of Sebastian, “You can sleep in here. Your old room, you can keep as a study or something. I don’t care.”  
“So… I’m..?”  
“You’re thinking too much. That’s what you are. Don’t ruin it.”  
“Says you,” Sebastian laughs and repeats his earlier action, lips brushing over Jim’s forehead. No answer for another moment as Jim evaluates the gesture and decides he likes it before flopping back down, head on his chest again.  
“Prick.” His smile evident as he sighs, a kiss pressed to his Sniper’s throat.

 _Jim is high as a kite when Moran returns from Barcelona. Smashed glasses and plates. There’s a knife in Sebastian’s favourite cushion – the one he always has behind his head when he lounges on the sofa – and three bullets in the television screen. Shattered beyond recognition._  
 _“The fuck is this?” Sebastian is Colonel Moran now, taking no shit. Not even from Jim.  
“Oh, I’ve been bad,” Jim replies, giggling. He’s wearing a t-shirt belonging to his Sniper and silk pyjama bottoms. He looks a sight; manic eyes and wild hair.  
“You’re a fucking mess. What’s this about?” “  
You were gone,” Jim whispers, much like a child in trouble. There’s an undeniable slur to his Irish brogue.  
It hits hard, like a blow to the chest but there’s no point in arguing with him, or even defending himself. His jaw is squared tellingly.  
“Oh. Uh oh,” the criminal sings, kicking his legs at the larger man standing above him. Sebastian’s anger builds and bubbles beneath the cracking surface.  
“Stop that. Up now.” He’s having none of it as he yanks Jim up, physically forceful in a way he would never dare to be if Jim wasn’t drugged out of his brilliant mind. His hands clamp Jim’s arms by his sides as he gives him a shake.  
“Look at you, you’re… Jesus Christ.” It had been months since the last time.  
“Not Jesus, no.” He laughs before turning serious, “You could have me now. You’d love it.” It takes Sebastian a moment, and Jim cackles as he watches the revelation.  
“You want to fuck the boss-man. Oh Sebby,” he teases, getting closer into his personal space._  
_“Shut up.” It’s clear, crisp. “Have you taken anything else?” He’s blatantly ignored what Jim had said, eyes scanning the room for pill bottles, a syringe, anything._  
 _Jim wriggled free, lying back on the sofa, sing-songing “Don’t lie, Bastian. Mo mhuirnín.”  
An almost empty bottle of Ambien’s under the sofa catches Seb’s sharp eyes before hauling Jim up by the scruff of the neck, despite his complaints and continuing taunts. After a bit of a struggle, he had got most of two glasses of salt-water into him, locked the door to the bathroom and waited. Jim’s gibberish continued, echoing in the tiled room._  
“Y’won’t because you’re a gent...gentleman. Tá tú chomh dílis _, Sebby._ An-mhaith _.” He groans as the saline began to take effect, gritting out, “C’mon, stop lyin’ to me... t’yerself,_ mo saighdiúir _. Fuck’s sake, Seb. You’re so obvious.” He slipped in and out of Irish, some French and German now and then. Sebastian ignored it all._  
_Jim swore at him breathlessly as he threw up, head hung over the toilet. How the mighty had fallen, and all by his own hand. Sebastian passed him a bottle of cold water and some tissue once the worst was over._  
_“I hate you,” Jim croaked, grabbing the bottle._  
_“I hate you too, ya prick,” Sebastian replied honestly._  
_“I meant it…” Jim murmured after another while. Again, Sebastian ignored it and helped him up, taking his self-destructive boss to his own bedroom. He threw some pyjamas at him, folding his arms. Normally Jim would’ve had him for his conduct by now, but he was still too out of it to care. Once he was changed, Sebastian ensured Jim lay on his side. A bucket by the bed – just in case._  
_“Go to sleep, Jim,” he said, shaking his head, blaming himself. Like Jim said, he wasn’t there when he needed him. As he turned to go, the other man slurred something._  
_“S’bastian... I meant...meant it.” He had grabbed Sebastian’s wrist. “Would’ve let you… Take a’vantage.”_  
_It’s all wrong and Sebastian yanks his hand back before leaving._  
_Ironically, after cleaning up and throwing_ _out anything Jim can OD on, he drinks enough whiskey to pass out. Jim slaps him awake the next morning, as if nothing had happened._  
_“You’ve got a job to do. Chop chop.”_

They eventually made it out of bed. Sebastian made the tea. Jim showered. It was still the same as always. A kiss hadn’t changed a thing, both to Sebastian’s delight and dismay.  
“Ah, the domestic goddess,” Jim drawled as he padded in, white shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled up. Working from home today.  
“Fresh as a daisy, I see,” Moran smirked, leaving their cups down, a bacon sandwich for himself. Jim checked his emails as Sebastian ate. It was just normal. If that’s what their life could be called.  
“So what do I call you then?” the sniper asked, chewing his last crust.  
Jim raised one plucked-to-perfection brow.  
“Lover? Boyfriend? Honey-bun?” He smirked cheekily as Jim grimaced.  
“I’ll scalp you if you call me the latter,” Jim replied matter-of-factly. “Maybe behead you…could put you above my desk.”  
“Partners in crime?” Seb liked the sound of that. Jim did too, if his face was anything to go by.  
“Hm. That one. Nothing changes, like I said.” Sebastian leaned in and pecked him, as if he had done it a thousand times. Jim’s lips were soft, supple. Kissing him felt just right. The Irishman moved his hand to cup Sebastian’s stubbled cheek, holding him there as it deepened naturally. Fleeting swipes of tongue, noses bumped. Lips curved into smiles before they shared one more press of lips before Sebastian was permitted to move back with a pat to the cheek.  
“McMullen case today. I need you out in Charing Cross. Wear the Gucci, don’t shave.” Jim’s voice was even and business like, as if they hadn’t just been snogging over a mug of tea.  
“Yes, boss,” came Sebastian’s reply, grinning to himself.

 _Sebastian navigated the following weeks with care. Jim was silent, withdrawn. Day to day life with the Consulting Criminal had been strained after his near-overdose. But they soon settled back into it._  
_Geneva in Spring-time was pleasant. Though neither had time to enjoy the weather or the sights. Time was money. They had shared a room, not uncommon. Though this time, as they parked outside, Jim had dropped in, oh so casually, that they would be posing as a couple. Ivan and Spencer Forde-Harris._  
_It was too easy to take each other’s hand as they headed inside, for Sebastian to keep an arm around Jim, or Ivan as he was going by. As they checked in, his fingers splayed protectively on Jim’s hip. Neither were fazed, it was an act. An all too telling one. The act continued with casual touches until they ensured that the room was neither bugged nor being filmed. They hardly spoke as Jim worked on codes and hacking from his laptop. Sebastian cleaned his guns in silence._  
_It didn’t happen until they were back in London two days later. They act had ended, but as they were driven from the airfield back to the city, Jim leaned his head on Sebastian’s broad shoulder. Unexpected but not unwelcome. Both stayed silent._  
_It just… happened. Back in the flat. Sebastian poured a generous amount of expensive red into two glasses as Jim began to eat. Steak and chips, pepper sauce. Sebastian wasn’t a half bad chef. Better than Jim – though that wasn’t very difficult. With his plate picked clean and wine half finished, Jim leaned over and pressed his lips to Sebastian’s as if it was the most natural thing. Because it was. Simply natural progression. There was no over-whelming battle for dominance. No adrenaline or drugs clouding their judgement or forcing them to act. No scraping, biting, hair pulling – not yet. Just a kiss, over before they knew it. Sebastian cleared the table as Jim left for the living room, both wine glasses in hand – topped up again. Moran glanced at the bottle. The 2003 Merlot. Jim had been saving that one…_  
_The second kiss came as they sat together on the sofa, Jim’s head in Sebastian’s lap before they moved in unison to connect their lips. Neither Jim nor Sebastian skirted about or worried. Unfazed by the bump of noses, breaths ghosting over each other’s mouths. Their lips met again. Electric. Delicately pale hands, capable of so much, came up to cup Sebastian’s face. He was ever aware that Jim could all-too-easily break his neck when he decided he was done with him. The predator became prey when Jim Moriarty was around. But Sebastian didn’t want it any other way._  
_No rush. Tongues touched tentatively, teeth clacked. Still perfect, still electric. It ignited a fire deep inside both men, one that had been set to blaze for much too long. Even though both had waited months for this moment, they took their time to learn and feel. Jim would always surprise him. They only stopped when interrupted by the BeeGees, Jim’s phone buzzing on the coffee table. Drawing the kiss out for one more moment, Moran squeezed his hip. “_  
_Take it. S’fine. I’ll wait,” he murmured. Wordlessly, Jim took the seat next to him, leaning into the soft leather as he answered the call._  
_“This better be good news…”_  
_A late, last minute liaison with some prospective business associates dragged them both from the comfort of the flat to their office in London’s Docklands. Terms were agreed upon, documents signed, blackmail material obtained. They made it home by midnight. A third kiss inside the front door of the flat, both releasing what tension or annoyance the late call had caused them._  
_“Stay with me tonight,” Jim said softly. It wasn't a question. His eyes stiayed closed even after their lips had parted. Sebastian looked at him. Kissed him once more._  
_“’Course.”_  
_His larger body covered Jim’s as he pressed him against the bedroom door, something within him snapping as their kisses deepened. Jim’s pearly teeth sunk into his lip in retaliation, drawing a pleasurable grunt from Sebastian’s throat._  
_“This is what I thought it’d be like. The first one,” he whispered, tongue darting out to lick his own lips._  
_“Shut up,” Jim muttered against his mouth, biting again to hear what noise Sebastian would make this time._  
_Clothes lay forgotten on the floor as they moved together on the bed; kisses accompanied by the bites, sharp scrapes and hair pulling Sebastian had always thought about. Hearing Jim’s breathy ‘oh fuck, Bastian—there!’ was music to his ears. Both drifted into sleep, arms around each other only to drift apart in the night. And still, nothing had to change. It was just their fucked up, happy little life together. Moriarty and Moran._

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Mo mhuirnín > My darling  
> Tá tú chomh dílis, Sebby. An-mhaith > You're so faithful/loyal, Sebby. Very good  
> Mo saighdiúir > My soldier
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read this. You can find me on Tumblr at la-gazzladra!  
> \- Amy


End file.
